Kim Possible Senior Moments: An Ode to a Peach
by Kimron Posstoppable
Summary: This is a series of stories that take place during Kim and Ron's senior year at Middleton High School. The series begins with An Ode to a Peach. Ron writes a peachy little poem that lands him in detention. Enjoy. R&R, Please and thank you.


This fic is the first in my new series, **Kim Possible: Senior Moments.**  
These stories take place during Kim and Ron's senior year at Middleton High School

Disclaimer: Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Rufus, and Mr. Steve Barkin all belong to Walt Disney Productions.

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**Kim Possible: Senior Moments**

An Ode to a Peach by Kimron Posstoppable

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"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Stoppable?" 

Ron Stoppable rested his chin on his hand, looking up at Mr. Barkin with slightly veiled annoyance. "I just wish I knew what I did to deserve detention. I didn't think it was that bad." Ron really didn't need detention today. He had a date with his favorite redhead after school and lateness was not an option.

Steve Barkin rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Don't play dumb with me," he growled, drawing uncomfortably closer to Ron until they were nose-to-nose. "I don't tolerate that kind of smut--" He pounded Ron's desk for emphasis, "--in my classroom."

Barkin couldn't believe he was teaching this kid again. The school year had barely started and Stoppable was already giving him headaches. It was bad enough he had weaseled his way onto the football team. Barkin thanked his lucky stars the boy was graduating this year. At least Smarty Mart was a still a Stoppable-free zone.

Ron shrugged. "All I did was recite my poem in front of the class. I did exactly what you told us to do. I wrote about a mundane, everyday, routine thing." The blond sat back and crossed his arms. "I don't get it. My pants didn't even fall down in front of the class or anything." He sighed. "Not this time, anyway."

Mr. Barkin drew himself up, glowering at Ron.

_Guess he wants an explanation or something. _Ron sighed. "See, there was this bowl of fruit on the table--"

"Mmm-hmm."

"--and there was this really nice looking peach on top, so I picked it up and took a bite." Ron paused, looking thoughtful. "You know how sometimes a peach looks looks juicy and ripe, but turns out to be a mouthful of just plain awfulness? When you bite into one like that, it's all hard and mealy." He frowned in disgust at the thought. "Sometimes it's even completely flavorless."

Barkin nodded curtly.

"Well, this one wasn't like that at all. It tasted exactly the way a good peach should. It tasted so good, I thought I should write about it."

"Ri-iight." Mr. Barkin slowly began to realize that the boy was likely telling the truth. He almost smiled. Almost. "You mean to tell me you had no idea that any of it might be taken the wrong way?"

Ron raised an eyebrow at him, shrugged and shook his head, looking genuinely puzzled.

Mr. Barkin shook his head in disbelief. _Even Stoppable couldn't possibly be this clueless_. He strode to his desk and picked up the poem.

_"An Ode to a Peach, by Ron Stoppable."_ Barkin glanced in Ron's direction. "The first few verses are a harmless description of the peach. No harm done."

Ron nodded.

"Here's the tricky part." Barkin cleared his throat.

_"Soft, fuzzy skin tickles my lips..._

_My tongue caresses its cleft..._

_Sinking into the tender, yielding flesh..."_

"I know, I know." Ron shook his head ruefully. "It doesn't rhyme."

"Stoppable..."

"Mr. B., I swear it's actually about eating a peach. It took me fifteen minutes to finish it."

Barkin glared at him.

"The peach, not the poem."

"What would your parents think?"

"That it's a poem about eating a peach."

The burly teacher sat at his desk with an defeated sigh. "Dismissed," he said before dropping his head into his hands.

"I can go?"

"Yes, Stoppable, go. Right now, before I change my mind."

Ron gathered his things and hurried from the room as quickly as he could. _Smut? Me? Has Mr. B. finally lost his mind?_ He found Kim waiting for him at his locker, leaning against it with a bemused expression on her face and Rufus perched on her shoulder.

Other students passed by, whispering to each other and giving Kim and Ron knowing glances.

Kim cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "You read a dirty poem in class?"

"Mr. Barkin sure seemed to think so.. You heard about it?"

She shrugged. "I heard bits and pieces of it."

Kim and Ron walked out of the building to the parking lot toward his powder blue scooter . Rufus hopped off Kim's shoulder and into Ron's pants pocket, where he found a tiny, Rufus-sized motorcycle helmet and put it on.

"Maybe I should've run it by you first, K.P. You tend to pick up on that kind of stuff. I still don't see it. I think I still have a copy on me. Want to hear it later? "

"Sure. I'd love to hear what all the fuss is about. The girls would _not _shut up about it at cheer practice."

"What were they saying?"

Kim put on a helmet. "Oh, just... Mostly about how lucky I must be to have you as a boyfriend, blah, blah, blah." Kim scoffed and waved dismissively. "Stuff I know already." she said, with a smile.

Ron strapped on his helmet and got on the scooter. "Huh. I was the subject of cheerleader talk and the word "loser" didn't come up? Sweet. I'm movin' up."

Kim nudged him playfully as she sat behind him. They zipped out of the parking lot and headed for Bueno Nacho. She was sure Ron wouldn't read something blatantly sexual or potentially offensive in class on purpose. That wasn't his style. And in _Barkin's_ class? Not likely. They had to have made up the stuff she heard he wrote..._ "Gushing juices?" _If he _had_ written that, what on earth had he been thinking about? Actually, Kim had a pretty good idea of what he might have been thinking about, but she would judge for herself when she heard it. Still, Hope and Tara, who were in Ron's English class and heard it for themselves had said it was specifically about Ron doing something to Kim they wished their boyfriends would do.

"I have _got_ to get a car." she mused later, digging into her taco salad. "Whenever we take the scooter, my hair gets wrecked. It's a mess."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You look fine. You _always_ look fine." he said, beating Rufus to the last nacho. "Hey, you want to hear what all the fuss was about?"

"Oh, right. The poem." Kim said absently, stabbing a cherry tomato. "Sure. Go ahead."

Ron fished around in his backpack. "It's in here somewhere... Ah! Okay. Here we go.

_"'An Ode to a Peach' by Ron Stoppable._

_There it sat in a bowl_

_ atop the apples and oranges_

_A lone peach_

_bathing in the afternoon sunlight_

_A prettier peach I'd never seen_

_with vibrant sun-kissed skin_

_Rosy golden ripened cheeks_

_Hesitant to take a bite_

_of a peach that was lovliness at first sight_

_fearing hard, sour, mealiness_

_fearing disappointment once again  
_

_Yet _

_it was too lovely to simply toss aside_

_Savoring before consumption_

_Taking in its beauty_

_After a moment's admiration_

_I bring it close and inhale its scent_

_Its fragrance entices my senses_

_Soft fuzzy skin tickles my lips_

_My tongue caresses its cleft_

_Sinking into the tender yielding flesh_

_a sudden gush of nectar_

_sweet juices wash over my tongue_

_Escaping from my mouth_

_Dripping down my cheeks_

_Onto my brand new shirt_

_Warmth_

_Wetness_

_Sweetness_

_Perfect pulp within _

_An unexpected treat_

_An afternoon delight_

_A simple pleasure_

_And my reward_

_For pushing aside my fear_

_And choosing the object of my desire."_

"Well? What do you think?" He looked up from the paper to see Kim's reaction. She was blushing and her mouth was slightly agape.

_Oh, my. _"Well--" Kim cleared her throat. "Umm... You're right. It doesn't rhyme."_ He really doesn't see it. How can he not?_

"It's bad, right?" He scratched his head. "I think I kinda rushed the end."

"No, it's not... bad."

"Think so?"

"Yeah. And it's kind of more of a free verse poem than an ode." She lowered her eyes shyly. "Uh, Ron?"

"Yeah, K.P.?"

"Could you read it from the 'soft, fuzzy skin' part?"

"O-kay..."

"Only... Come a little closer and whisper it to me."

He leaned in closer to her and dropped his voice to a whisper. _"Soft, fuzzy skin tickles my lips..."_

Kim giggled softly.

_"My tongue caresses its cleft..."_

"Mmm."

_"As I sink into the tender yielding flesh... A sudden gush of necta--"_ Ron paused and thought for a moment. Realization suddenly washed over him like a tidal wave. The stunned looks on his classmates' faces... The looks of disgust from some of them... The smitten looks some of the girls tossed his way the rest of the day... The way Kim was looking at him right now... The way she was looking at him reminded him of the way she had looked at him through her Kimmunicator one hot Friday night only a couple of months ago.

"Oh, boy." He shook his head at his own cluelessness and an embarrassed grin spread across his face. Even after the "peachy" little late-night conversation he had a few months ago with Kim, he hadn't made the connection.

"Finally came to you, eh?" Kim chuckled.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I didn't mean it like that, y'know."

"I know. It's okay."

He remembered how other kids were whispering to each other as they walked by earlier. Even at Bueno Nacho he'd noticed the same thing. "K.P... People must think I... That we--"

"I don't care what they think." Kim reached across the table and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "They'll think what they want, anyway. They always have." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Were you _really_ not thinking about me when you wrote that?"

"Seriously? Uh-uh. Wondering what your peach actually looks like does cross my mind once in a while lately." He thought for a moment and grinned. "Okay, more like a lot. _A lot_. Especially after that night we... um... That night you called me up."

Kim blushed. "Oh."

"But not when I wrote the poem."

"Oh," Kim said, looking a little disappointed.

"Not on purpose, anyway. I really kinda wish I had. It would've been way longer and way more descriptive. And way, way dirtier," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her, making her laugh. "That would've been totally worth going to detention for."

After dropping Kim off at her house, Ron realized he was more worried about passing his classes this year than he ever had been. Partly because he had to keep his grades up to stay on the football team (because of the new school policy now known as the Brick Flagg Act), but mostly because he wanted to be able to get into a good college so he and Kim wouldn't be separated. There was no way Kim was going to Middleton Community College and if he wasn't careful, that was exactly where he was going to end up. He couldn't afford to mess everything up over something like this. He'd worked really hard on the poem hoping to get a good grade on it.

Who knew really trying would blow up in his face?

The next day before English class began, Ron approached Mr. Barkin. "Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr. B.?"

"_Can_ you, Stoppable?"

Ron sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. "_May_ I talk to you for a minute, Mr. B.?"

"Fine. One minute. Class is about to start and we have quite a bit to cover today."

"I just wanted to talk to you about that poem I wrote."

Barkin looked at his watch. "Forty-nine seconds..."

"I'm sorry if it offended you."

Barkin looked up from his watch. "What?"

"I thought about it and I can see where you'd think it was smutty. I still don't think it was all that bad, but I can see your point now. And... I'm sorry."

Barkin read Ron's face, looking for signs on insincerity. _Huh. Genuine contrition.Would wonders never cease?_ He sat on the edge of his desk. "Are you worried about your grade on the poem, Stoppable?"

"Kind of. Sort of. A little."

"I'd say a lot."

"You'd be right."

"I appreciate your apology, Stoppable, but the poems have already been graded. I'm handing them back in a few minutes. Rest assured, the grade you received is the grade you earned."

After class, Ron caught Kim at her locker. "Check this out," he said, holding up his poem.

"Ooh. You got a 'B+'. Nice." Kim said, impressed.

"Keep reading,."

_"After careful consideration, I've come to the conclusion that this poem is, in fact, about eating a peach and savoring it. Any other subtext is definitely in the mind of the reader. This was a respectable effort. Nice job.  Just watch it next time, Stoppable." _


End file.
